Page 57 of For the Love of Art

“That’s because she is. She’s twenty-six.”

Nathan let out a low whistle.

“It’s funny. I thought I was too young for Don when we met. There’s seven years between us.”

“So, he has a type.”

I scoffed.

“I don’t think you get to have a say. I’ve seen the women in the gossip magazines. They’re not exactly about to collect their 401K.”

Nathan shrugged. “You’re right. I like younger women. The difference is that I didn’t promise anyone forever and then not have the courtesy to say that I’m breaking that promise before shattering it in a completely unfixable way.”

I blinked a couple of times, not because what he said was so earth shattering, but because I liked him being on my side.

“Would you?”

“Would I what?”

“Promise forever and then….” I trailed off, unsure how to finish the thought.

“No. I wouldn’t want a loss I couldn’t recover from.”

He squeezed my thigh, then let go. I didn’t like the cold left in its absence.

Nathan went back to scrolling on his phone, and I swallowed. I felt conflicted. A moment ago, I was overwhelmed with the grief of the ending of my marriage. Now, I wanted to feel Nathan’s touch again.

We kept to ourselves for the rest of the drive, but I did find myself peering out of the corner of my eye. God, his square jaw was handsome.

No!

I would not give in to his charm.

The car stopped in front of a brick building. Nathan got out and sprinted to my side of the vehicle. He opened the door, and I stepped onto the busy sidewalk. I followed him to the front door and watched as he used his index finger to scan the list of names, stopping at Han Pae. He pressed the button next to it.

A voice came through the box, “Hello?”

“Han! It’s Nathan Manning. We spoke on the phone.”

It amazed me how smoothly Nathan could switch into business mode– his voice and body language changed, and he suddenly took up more space in a confident, controlled way.

An obnoxious buzz declared we were allowed in the building. Nathan opened the door, and I followed after him.

While this wasn’t Nathan’s apartment building, it was still impressive. It looked industrial, with brick walls, exposed piping, and lacquered concrete floors. We climbed a flight of stairs to the second floor. Nathan stopped about seven doors down the hall and knocked.

A short Asian man opened the door and smiled brightly.

“Nathan.”

The door opened wider to reveal a bright, white apartment. We stepped in, and I looked around, enamored by the vibrant paintings similar to the one in Nathan’s apartment. They stood out against the bland paint and furniture colors, and I was immediately drawn to them, walking along and taking in a style and composition that felt lost over the centuries. Artists like Mary Cassatt and Salvador Dalí had done beautiful odes to Velázquez, but this didn’t feel like another ode to him. It felt deeper.

“You like?” Han asked from behind me.

I turned.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to–”

“No, no.” Han held his hands out. “It’s a treat to see someone enjoying my work.”